The Way of the Cathay-Rhat
by The 11 Tailed Vegetable
Summary: This one is Khajiiti. hated, distrusted, forbidden from entering the cities. but now, when this one holds the power to save the world, will this one keep this world alive, or will he extuinguish it's flames... for good?
1. Chapter 1

**The way of the Cathay-Rhat,**

**An Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim tale**

L.T: This one welcomes you to Elsweyr. Come, sit by the fire. The nights are cold, and dangerous. Oh, there is no need for alarm, friends. This one will protect you. Come, eat, drink, and listen to the tale that this one has to tell…

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THE FOURTH ERA. SKYRIM IS PLUNGED INTO A BITTER CIVIL WAR, WHICH HAS RAGED FOR MANY YEARS. ON ONE SIDE, THE STORMCLOAKS, THE 'TRUE SONS OF SKYRIM', LED BY THE FORMER JARL OF WINDHELM, ULFRIC STORMCLOAK. ON THE OTHER, THE EMPIRE OF CYRODIIL. THIS IS A TALE OF THESE TIMES, AND THE PART THAT ONE SMALL KHAJIIT HAS TO PLAY…

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Pain… this one's head aches. The last thing he remembers is Running into the Stormcloaks, and then the Imperial Guard hitting him on the head, then…nothing.

Sitting up, this one opens his eyes, squinting at the light. It is now full day, but when this one was hit, it was still the dead of night.

"Hey, you, you're finally awake!" Looking around, this one saw a nord, wearing scaled armour and a blue cloak, sitting on the bench opposite him. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there…2 he gestured to his left, and this one turned his head. The thief, sitting there scowling, glared at the tall nord. "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along! The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I'd've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. " Turning to this one, the thief, Lokir, continued his ranting. "You there, you and me. We shouldn't be here! It's the Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

The fair-furred Nord muttered, "We're all brothers in binds now, thief." The Imperial steering the wagon looked over his shoulder and ordered, "Shut up back there!"

As the Guard stared back at the road, Lokir cut his eyes at the man sitting next to this one, and muttered, "What's wrong with him, huh?" The Nord opposite this one snarled, "Watch your mouth! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the TRUE High King!"

Startled, the thief jabbered, "U-Ulfric?! Jarl of Windhelm?! You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you…Oh, gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Lokir began rocking on his seat, mumbling over and over, "no, no, no, this can't be happening, this can't be happening…" the Nord sitting next to him elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

Blinking in surprise, Lokir asked, "Why do you care?" The blond man looked at him pityingly. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

Lokir sat, a tear slipping down his grimy cheek. "R-Rorikstead. I-I'm from Rorikstead."

As the name of his home burst from his lips, and voice, so clear and bell-like that it rang in the quiet mountain air, reported, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

A gruffer reply came. "Good, let's get this over with."

Lokir began weeping in earnest. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Akatosh…Divines, please, help me!"

As we passed through the gate, the big nord grinned sardonically. "Look at him, General Tullius, the 'Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves."

As the cart drew near to the centre of the village, the blond sighed. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in…" turning his head, he scowled. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." The cart drew to a rumbling halt. "Wait, why are we stopping?" Lokir had snapped out of his despair for a time. The nord snorted. "Why do you think? End of the line." Shunting the poor man ahead of him, he grinned. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the guards waiting for us." Ignoring all his protests, we lined up in a block, and the Imperial captain smirked at us. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!" the man beside this one sniggered. "Empire loves their damn lists."

"ULFRIC STORMCLOAK, Jarl of Windhelm." The Imperial guard who had driven our wagon called ou.t the gagged man in front of this one stepped forward, followed by the Nord next to this one's call. "It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric!"

"RALOF OF RIVERWOOD!" The nord next to this one stepped around the quaking thief, and joined the other man, Ulfric, in the line for the most drastic haircut in his life.

"LOKIR OF RORIKSTEAD!" the thief screamed, "NO! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this! He took off running. "ARCHERS!" bellowed the Imperial captain overseeing the executions. The sound of a flight of arrows, like angry hornets, buzzed through the silence. A faint grunt, and then a thud, as the foolish thief's run was cut short.

This one stood firm. He will face his end with the dignity of his people. "Wait. You there." This one looked at him "step forward." When this one complied, he asked, "Who are you?"

"This one has the honour of being named J'Ghasta, the Clawed Beast." The imperial soldier said, "You with one of the trade caravans, Khajiit? You're kind always seems to find trouble." He looked down at his hand, reading the paper he held there. "Captain, what do we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list. He goes to the block." The Imperial looked at this one with a shamefaced expression. "I'm sorry. I'll make sure your remains are returned to Elsweyr." This one nods, then walks to his death. The Imperial General, Tullius, stood in front of Jarl Ulfric. "Some in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." he inclined his head, took a deep breath, and raised his voice. "Now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!" a roar echoed down from the surrounding mountains. The Thalmor ignored it, and summoned one of the Stormcloak men from the line. As he was forced down onto the block, he spat, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

The headsman raised his heavy, brutal axe, it's edge keen, and, though old, This one could see it was well-cared for. It curved through the air, and struck off the kneeling man's head with a single blow. The captain looked satisfied. Turning back to the line of silent men, she barked, "Next, the cat." This one growled when he heard that. NEVER call a Khajiit a 'cat', not if you like having a throat.

A second roar burned in the sky. When this one stayed put, the captain narrowed he eyes and gritted her teeth. "I said, Next. Prisoner." This one strode forward proudly, twitching his tail then knelt. As the headsman raised his axe a second time, this one saw… with a crashing thump, a "DRAGON!" landed on the tower, and Shouted. The yellow wave of energy threw the headsman down, and arrows flew, snapping in half as they struck the thing's scaled form.

As This one knelt, alone in a cleared space, the thing, once a myth, now, more terrible than any Daedra, glared it's hatred at this one, the Shouted again, and this one saw nothing…

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	2. Chapter 2

**The way of the Cathay-Raht, chapter two**

**An Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim tale**

L.T: Well, maybe you should shut your trap before you judge people? Yeah, you know who you are, you, the first person to review this story. Pissing me off isn't a smart idea. Anyway, Chapter two, enjoy!

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THE FOURTH ERA. SKYRIM IS PLUNGED INTO A BITTER CIVIL WAR, WHICH HAS RAGED FOR MANY YEARS. ON ONE SIDE, THE STORMCLOAKS, THE 'TRUE SONS OF SKYRIM', LED BY THE FORMER JARL OF WINDHELM, ULFRIC STORMCLOAK. ON THE OTHER, THE EMPIRE OF CYRODIIL. THIS IS A TALE OF THESE TIMES, AND THE PART THAT ONE SMALL KHAJIIT HAS TO PLAY…

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As I woke, I noticed something was…different, but before I could understand, the thought trickled through my claws like sand as I was heaved to my feet by the Stormcloak, Ralof. "Come on, quick! Let's get inside!" He bellowed. I scrambled for the tower he pointed at, and he slammed the door behind me. Now that I had a minute to think about it, I realised. My thoughts… they seemed, more ordered, compacted. I opened my mouth and asked, "Why… why is a dragon here? And why did it single me out? What's did I do to deserve this?" as I ranted, I saw the funny looks that Jarl Ulfric and the others in the tower were giving me. "What?" I said. "Uummm…why are you talking like that?" Ralof stuttered. "Like what?" and then it hit me. I raised a paw to my throat. "Oh, Divines…" My voice had changed. Instead of talking like a standard Khajiit, I was talking in the same way as any other Nord, Breton, Redguard, or elf.

I shook my head. No time to figure out why, how and what had happened. I had to get out of here. Leaping for the stairs, I hopped up them, three at a time. As I reached the second landing, a huge hole appeared in the wall, and I ducked back, just avoiding getting whacked. Gaping jaws filled the gap, and I saw the dragon again. It was clinging to the side of the building, and breathing in hard. I heard a bellow, "YOL…TOOR SHUL!" and flames, hotter than any I'd ever felt, boiled out of the creature's throat and washed over the landing, scorching the stones black. As it pulled away and took flight again, Ralof slipped up behind me. "You see that inn just below?" he whispered, gesturing to a large structure with a huge hole in the roof, with small flames licking the edges. "Go on, jump!" he hissed. I gulped, stepped onto the still-warm stones at the edge of the landing, and threw my self forward, into the air, soaring directly where I had aimed. Brushing myself off, I climbed to my feet.

My tail twitched, and then I smelled… "Burning hair?" I grabbed my tail and yanked the end round. I blinked twice, then… "YAAAAARRGGGHH!" dashing through the room, I fell down a hole into the ground floor, rolled out of the doorframe, and landed butt-first in a snowdrift. I sighed as the flame on the end of my poor, singed tail died. As I sat in a puddle of melting snow, I heard another loud 'Th-THUMP!' from the street just ahead. As I stood, I heard Hadvar's voice. "Haming, COME HERE, NOW!" As I saw a small boy, the one who'd been watching the carts earlier, run past me, a jet of flame seared the ground a foot behind him. As I turned my head, I saw the Imperial. He smiled when he saw me. "Still alive, then? Right stick with me and we'll get us out of here."

Taking off at a dead run, he led the way, with me struggling to keep up. "MY HANDS ARE STILL TIED!" I screeched at him. He called back over his shoulder, "not now, damn it!" following him, he led me in a curve to another, smaller tower, while the other Imperials were shooting off every arrow they had. "By the Eight, nothing's working!" I heard one yell. "KEEP FIRING!" bellowed another. At the same time Hadvar and I reached the door, Ralof appeared at the other end of the concourse. "Ralof, you traitor!" growled Hadvar. "Say what you want, Hadvar, I'm getting out of here." Ralof replied coldly, and darted past us. Hadvar led me over to the other door, and pushed me gently in, closing it behind him with a thunk. Pulling a small Iron Dagger from his belt, Hadvar cut my bonds, and I rubbed some life back into my wrists.

While he locked the door, he told me, "Go look in that chest, see if you can find any weapons, or some armor." By the time he'd finished barring the way, I rummaged through the chest, pulling out two iron swords, a dagger, and a full suit of Imperial Legionnaire's armour. When Hadvar saw me, he nodded, smiling. "Looks good on you. Right, let's get a move on."

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1 HOUR LATER:

Hadvar and I crouched outside the cave-mouth, behind some fallen boulders, watching that damned dragon flap off into the distance. When we were sure it'd gone, Hadvar straightened up, and patted me on the shoulder. "Well, thanks for the help. I don't think I'd have made it out otherwise." As he started walking, I followed him, while he told me how to get to his uncle's house in Riverwood. "His name's Alvor and he's the only smith in town. He'll help you get to Whiterun, the Hold Capitol. Mention me to him, and he'll give you any aid he can. Oh, and, if you ever make it to Solitude, you should think about joining the Imperial Legion. I'll even put in a good word with General Tullius for you." We split up at the fork in the road. I took the left, head to Riverwood and Whiterun, while Hadvar strode off down the right fork, aiming for Solitude, the Capitol of Skyrim, to make his report. I grinned, and set off myself, whistling, "The Age of Aggression' while I sauntered along. Life had just gotten a lot more interesting…

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End file.
